Through the turnstile,
uptown or down,
past the bench
where life
sleeps
on its rack
of layers and litter.
The platform’s edge
and its oncoming
promise.
We are admitted—
the sick,
the pre,
the post,
the free of suffering
and disease—
deciphering
staticky
apostrophes
from above—
then out
the revolving gate
of before,
after
and beyond.
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Published in the May 2024 issue: View Contents
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Two Poems by William Hathaway